


The Continuing Adventures of the Spider and the Spy

by coralysendria, malinaldarose (coralysendria)



Series: Spider and Spy [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Community: trope_bingo, Doppelganger, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents, Trope Bingo Amnesty, Trope Bingo Round 13, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralysendria/pseuds/coralysendria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/coralysendria/pseuds/malinaldarose
Summary: Five more times (plus one) that Ethan Hunt and Natasha Romanoff encountered one another.This takes place after Iron Man 3 and during Captain America:  Civil War in the MCU timeline and after Ghost Protocol and during Rogue Nation in the Mission:  Impossible timeline.  There are no spoilers for later movies.
Series: Spider and Spy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587079
Kudos: 11





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter fills the Undercover Missions square on my Trope Bingo Round 13 card.
> 
> Also, I am using the MCU spelling of "Romanoff" for Natasha's surname.

Ethan's first instinct, when the dark SUVs surrounded him during his morning run, was to slide around one and keep going, because this simply couldn't be good. The voice that called out to him to get in, though, caused him to freeze in his tracks, then carefully comply.

It wasn't often that one got picked up by the President of the United States.

"Good morning, sir," he said. A Secret Serviceman closed the door behind him, then slid into the front seat next to the driver. 

"Good morning, Agent Hunt," President Ellis replied. He nodded to the driver and the car moved smoothly forward. "I wonder if I might interest you in a job?"

"Of course, sir."

Ellis raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

Ethan shrugged. "Since IMF does not have a Secretary at present, sir, we are under your direct orders."

"So...what you're telling me is that I'm your boss."

"Yes, Mister President."

Ellis smiled briefly. "Good to know. The job I have in mind for you needs to happen very quickly and very, _very_ quietly. What do you know about Pepper Potts?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed as he considered the question and the possible reasons behind it. "I know that I don't want to make an enemy of Tony Stark," he said slowly.

The President waved that off. "If you accept this mission, Agent Hunt, Tony Stark would have precisely the opposite response to your success."

"Something has happened to Miss Potts?"

Instead of answering that question, Ellis asked, "How familiar are you with the events of this past Christmas?"

"I know what was in the papers," Ethan answered, "and on the news. Terrorists kidnapped you with the collusion of the Vice President, and you were freed by War Machine and Iron Man -- by Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes and Tony Stark. The man behind it was arrested."

Ellis nodded. "That is all essentially correct. The Mandarin turned out to be an out-of-work actor, and the man who had recruited _him_ was the real culprit. That man was killed -- by Pepper Potts, who had herself been kidnapped and injected with an experimental substance called Extremis which was being used to produce super soldiers. The stability of Extremis in a subject's body depends partly on willpower, which Miss Potts has in abundance. She was able to control herself and the Extremis in her system until Tony Stark came up with a way to neutralize it, but many of the subjects were not, and their bodies simply exploded. Quite spectacularly."

"The Mandarin attacks," Ethan said, making the connection.

"The Mandarin attacks," Ellis confirmed.

"Miss Potts recently took a sabbatical from Stark Industries," Ethan said thoughtfully. "There was a lot of talk that she hadn't had the job long enough -- only a few years -- to rate taking that much time off. But it was because of the Extremis."

"Indeed," Ellis said.

"But what does this have to do with IMF?" Ethan asked.

"Not a thing," Ellis replied. "Not yet, anyway. Once he had the Extremis neutralized, Tony Stark finally felt secure enough to take care of a medical issue that he had been avoiding for several years. Two weeks ago he had a serious surgical procedure; until he recovers from it, Iron Man is on the bench."

"Please tell me you don't want me to pilot the Iron Man armor," Ethan said.

Ellis huffed a laugh. "No. Even if Stark would allow it, which he most definitely would not, that's not what I'm asking. No, I'm asking you to go after Pepper Potts. Despite the secrecy surrounding it, someone has found out that Stark is in no condition to protect her, and so, twelve hours ago, they took her. No demands have been issued, and we think they're after the remnants of the Extremis in her blood."

"But what about the other Avengers?" Ethan asked. "Even if Stark is benched, surely the others would be able to go after her? I can't imagine kidnappers standing in Captain America's way."

Ellis shrugged. "The others are all involved in their own projects -- and that is the same reason we can't call in War Machine. Stark has a way of piloting Iron Man without actually being inside the armor, but it is still too demanding for his current physical condition. And so we turn to the IMF." 

"Why not SHIELD? They work closely with Stark and the Avengers."

"We did reach out to SHIELD," Ellis said. "They assigned an agent." He nodded toward the front seat.

"Hi, Ethan," Natasha Romanoff said from the drivers seat.

~*~*~

The President dropped them off in the parking garage of the Triskelion, where SHIELD had their headquarters. To Ethan's surprise, however, they did not enter the building. Instead, Natasha led him to an area that was clearly employee parking -- not a single official-looking vehicle in sight -- and unlocked a non-descript compact car, indicating that Ethan should get into the passenger seat.

"This is your car?" he asked in surprise.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Not sexy enough for you?"

"It's not that, it's just that I expected something a little...." He spread his hands and shrugged.

"Sexier." The quirk of Natasha's lips indicated that she was teasing him.

"Sexier," Ethan agreed with a quirk of his own, climbing in and closing the door.

Natasha settled herself in the driver's seat. "Tallulah is a little less obvious," she said, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking spot.

"Wait -- your car's name is Tallulah?" Ethan's voice nearly squeaked in surprise. 

"I didn't say she was _my_ car, Ethan," Natasha said evenly. "And, yes. Her name is Tallulah." She glanced over at him as he tried to process something that did not fit his conception of her, and appeared to relent a little. "She's actually my partner's car."

"And where is your partner?"

Natasha's lips thinned. "If he knows what's good for him, he's hauling ass back to New York. I would prefer to have him here as backup."

"Does SHIELD have any idea where Miss Potts is being held?"

"No," Natasha replied. "But Stark will know."

"Wait -- you don't think he's involved?" 

"No, of course not. But after the Mandarin debacle, he'll have some way of tracking her. Even if he can't go after her himself, he'll know where she is."

"So we're going to see Stark. I feel underdressed."

"Whiner. We'll stop by your house first."

"Is it just us, Natasha?"

She half-shrugged. "Right now it is. We'll see what Stark has to say, then decide whether or not we need your team."

"My team? Why not _your_ team?"

"I have a feeling this is going to require IMF finesse, Ethan, rather than Avenger smashing," Natasha said. "We're not exactly subtle. And SHIELD...well, Director Fury wants this kept as quiet as Stark does."

~*~*~

The drive to New York was long, but surprisingly pleasant. For as long as Ethan had known Natasha, they had had comparatively few chances to just chat. By the time they were twenty miles outside D. C., they'd already laid out a plan for how to handle Stark and the initial reconaissance of wherever Miss Potts was being kept. After that, they simply talked. Ethan found himself talking to Natasha about how he had met his wife Julia, since Natasha was one of the very few people who knew that Julia was still alive, and Natasha talked about dealing with the Avengers, which was a far cry from what she had been initially trained to do.

Natasha drove as skillfully as she did everything else, and though she did not drive aggressively -- they wanted their presence to be unremarkable and unmemorable, after all -- they were approaching Stark Tower around the same time businesspeople were hurrying back to their desks after lunch. Ethan, who had not had occasion to be in New York since the Chitauri invasion, noted the number of repair cranes. There were none about Stark Tower, but the name on the side had not been repaired; the _A_ of _Stark_ was still the only letter on the tower's side. Looking around, though, Ethan saw Stark's name everywhere else. Many of the construction crews and cranes bore the Stark arrow logo.

"Why hasn't he repaired that?" Ethan nodded at the lone letter on the tower's side. That it had not yet been repaired seemed at odds with the arrogance that seemed to typify Tony Stark.

Natasha shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons. He always does."

Perhaps, thought Ethan, he wanted to distance himself from the invasion itself, since the aliens' portal had been opened directly over the Tower -- from a device on the roof, if what Ethan had heard was correct. He doubted very much that Stark wanted people to associate him with the invasion -- as anything other than one of humanity's defenders, at least, and now as the billionaire overseeing the repairs.

Natasha pulled into a parking garage while they were still some blocks from Stark Tower. Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow, but said nothing. "You'll see," she said. She maneuvered the car into a parking spot. Ethan unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the car door. "Wait."

As he pulled his hand back, the wall next to them opened and the floor pivoted. Natasha drove forward into the new tunnel, while the wall slid shut behind them. A few minutes later, the car exited the tunnel, and Natasha parked it neatly. There were a few other vehicles present, most of them clearly belonging to Tony Stark. There were no exits that Ethan could see. "Talk about private parking."

Natasha shrugged. "Especially useful if you want to have meetings no one knows about." She led the way to the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. "Say, when your significant other slash CEO of your company has been kidnapped."

"Are we not announcing ourselves?"

"Stark oversaw every part of the initial building, and then the post-invasion repair of this tower," Natasha answered. "Do you really think he didn't know we were coming from the second we activated the tunnel?"

"Good point," Ethan conceded. He had automatically noted the cameras in parking garage and elevator, well-concealed though they were.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open to reveal a huge open space gleaming with marble and what Ethan hoped were brass accents. A man rose from a sunken living area in the center near an unlit gas fireplace.

"You could have used the front door, Miss Rushman," he greeted them. "Is this another one of your super-sekrit-spy-buddies?"

"Sit down before you fall down, Tony," Natasha said. "Are you even supposed to be out of bed, yet? Where's Happy? I thought he was keeping an eye on you?" She crossed the expanse of parquet floor to the living area. "Well, at least you're smart enough not to have the fire on while you have oxygen nearby, though it would help you more if you were actually _using_ it." 

Ethan trailed after Natasha, observing everything. As he got closer, he realized that Stark was not at all well. A small oxygen tank was thrown to one side of the couch he had occupied, and his usually neat beard was overgrown and stubbled. His pallor made the dark circles beneath his eyes stand out. Ethan had been expecting an arrogant, self-assured asshole. Instead, what he was getting was a frail invalid who, this afternoon, at least, looked every bit his age and then some. 

"Don't fuss, nanny," Stark grumbled, sinking back into the couch. "I have to build up my lungs somehow. And you didn't answer me. Who's this?"

"This is Ethan Hunt," Natasha said. Ethan stepped up and offered his hand, but Stark waved him away.

"Compromised immune system," he said vaguely. "I take it you're one of Natasha's SHIELD buddies?"

"I'm with IMF," Ethan replied.

"IMF?" Stark shook his head. "Really?" He rolled his head toward Natasha. "So we've upgraded from 'difficult' to 'impossible'?"

"You've heard of us?" Ethan asked, surprised. Very few people outside the IMF knew of the agency's existence.

Stark's dark eyes found him. "You'd be surprised by the things I know that I'm not supposed to. I'm really good at finding things out. Ask her." He smirked at Natasha, who rolled her eyes at him. "Both of you sit down, please; I'm getting a crick in my neck." He stared at Natasha. "Do you trust him? No offense, Agent Hunt."

"None taken," Ethan said, easily. 

"I have known Ethan for a long time, Stark, and we've worked together before. Yes," Natasha said. "I trust him. Now behave yourself." 

"Yes, nanny," Stark said, but Ethan detected a certain thawing in his behavior.

Natasha ignored that and waved her hand at the laptop on the low table in the center of the circle of couches. "Have you found out where she is?"

Stark nodded. "West end of the state, south of Buffalo, near the Pennsylvania border. Lot of forested land and old oil leases. Nice place for camping, if you're into that sort of thing. But more significantly, it has this." He pointed to something on the screen of his laptop. Natasha leaned over and frowned at it, then turned the laptop toward Ethan. He studied what was clearly a satellite photo of a factory at the edge of a residential neighborhood.

"Ooookay," he said slowly. "A factory. She's there?"

"Yup," Stark said, popping the final consonant.

"She's got a tracker, right?" Ethan said. "Are you sure they didn't just find the tracker and leave it there?"

"No," Stark said firmly, and his eyes promised murder for anyone who tried.

"Subcutaneous?" Natasha said. "Microchip?"

"Yes," Stark replied. "And no. Nothing so easy to find. It's her blood, actually. I can track her blood."

"I thought the Extremis was nullified?" Ethan said.

Stark frowned at him. "You're rather well informed."

"Tony," Natasha said. "You need help, and Ethan was recruited at the highest levels. Of course he's informed."

Stark closed his eyes. "Fine. Whatever." He opened his eyes and met Ethan's. "Not nullifed. Neutralized, which is not the same thing, quite. It is still present in her blood; she just can't use it, and it can't make her go boom. But it can be tracked." He paused. " _If_ you have the right kind of equipment, anyway," and his tone promised that if he could help it, no one else would ever have the right kind of equipment. Ever.

"So they're hoping to turn it back on, extract the formula from Pepper's blood, and start cranking out super soldiers," Natasha said. "Which means that they do not have Killian's original formula, but they know what he was doing."

"I don't care who they are, or what they think they're doing, Widow," Stark said. "I care that they took Pepper. I want her back."

Ethan was glad that the glare Natasha turned on Stark wasn't turned on him, but Stark seemed immune. "We will get her back for you, Tony. But then someone is going to have to hunt them down."

Stark flapped his hand at her in irritation. "And it's not going to be me, yes, I know. Dammit, this is why I didn't have this surgery before."

Natasha's face softened a tiny increment. "We'll find her, Tony. Have you heard from them, yet?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, but you know what they're going to say. No Iron Man, no War Machine, no Avengers, no SHIELD, no police, blah blah blah."

"How quickly can we get there?" Ethan asked. 

"Depends on how we go," Natasha answered. "The only public transport is by bus, and it would take too long. Passenger trains don't go into the area. The local airport is tiny and is no doubt being watched. It's a pretty straight shot by car, but the drive would take at least seven hours."

Just then another voice spoke. "Boss?"

"Yeah, Happy?" Stark called. 

"Call. It's from Miss Potts' cell."

"You know what to do, Happy."

"Right, boss."

After a split second, a slight change in the sound coming from the intercom indicated that the call had been put through. "Hello?" Stark said.

"Ah, Mister Stark." A man's voice.

"Who is this?"

"It doesn't matter. Listen carefully. You know we have Miss Potts, and you know why we have her. I'm sure you know where she is. And so you will present yourself this evening at 8:00 p.m. The local airport is large enough to accomodate your private jet. I understand that you have recently had surgery, so a car and driver will be waiting for you. I think I do not need to tell you to come alone. If anyone else exits the jet, including the pilot, they -- and you -- will be killed. Do you understand these instructions?"

"I do."

"Good. I trust you will comply." There was a soft click as the call was disconnected.

Stark let his head fall back. His eyes closed. "Well, this sucks."

"Mid-thirties," Ethan mused. "Indeterminate, mid-Atlantic accent. Familiar with New York state geography. Was the call coming from the factory building?"

Stark opened his eyes and raised his head again. He reached forward and poked at his laptop. "Yes. From the offices."

"Is Justin Hammer still in prison?" Natasha asked suddenly. Stark stared at her. Ethan frowned a question. "She had a run-in with him some while back, and he said some rather nasty things to her. He's just the type to follow through, too."

Stark shook his head. "As of breakfast-time this morning, he was still there."

Ethan leaned forward, his eyes on Stark. "Okay. We know why they want Miss Potts. Why do they want you, Mister Stark?"

"I can reactivate Extremis," Stark replied. "They don't care about me or Pepper, and they obviously don't want money. The only other thing they could want would be the Extremis."

Natasha sighed. "Why does it always come back to super soldiers? Steve would be very disappointed."

"And would you give it to them? To get Miss Potts back?" Ethan asked. "If you put yourself in their hands, they will torture you to get it."

"Ask the Ten Rings how well that works," Stark said darkly. His hand lifted, folded fingers brushed lightly against the center of his chest, where Ethan could make out the thick padding of bandages.

Ethan nodded; Stark's kidnapping and three-month imprisonment by the Ten Rings had given the world Iron Man. He handed off the conversation to Natasha with a glance.

"Tony," she said. "If you won't break -- if you don't give them what they want -- they'll torture Pepper."

Stark's brows drew together. He drew breath to shout at them, then, but instead began coughing. Ethan could see that he was having trouble getting enough air; his shoulders flexed with the coughs. Natasha rose and turned on the oxygen, fitting the cannula across his face.

"Breathe, Tony," she said, running her hand across his back. "Just breathe." She murmured nonsense to him until the spasm passed, and he could breathe again. When it finally did, Stark lay against the back of the couch, his face grey, his eyes closed. Ethan doubted he was in any condition to walk across the room, let alone fly to the other end of the state.

"Get her back, Natasha."

"I will, Tony. I promise. Ethan and I will have her back to you before tomorrow morning."

"Swear?"

"I swear, Tony. We will get her back." 

"How?"

"Can you fly the jet?" Ethan asked. At Natasha's nod, he grinned. "You're going to go get her, Stark, just like they asked."

~*~*~

The sun was low in the west when Stark's private jet approached the tiny local airport and requested permission to land. It was, Ethan had to admit, a pretty place; the airport was atop a hill too high for the designation "hill," but too small to be called a mountain. This end of the state was an area of dairy farms and forested, rolling hills; the small city where the factory was located was nestled in a bowl formed by the hills, with a shallow river snaking lazily past to the south.

They took a broad, sweeping turn around the airfield, which allowed them to scan for watchers. 

"I make five," Ethan said, looking at the screen of a device he held in his lap. "One in the hangar, two in the lounge, two by the access road. I like this scanner, Stark; can I keep it?"

Tony laughed through the jet's cockpit speakers. "What, because it can scan for weapons as well as all the other bells and whistles? It _is_ a useful little toy. The satellite is more useful, though, and it's coming into position over the factory now."

Natasha skillfully maneuvered the jet to a landing on the airport's single strip. The airport authorities had already been warned not to approach the jet, and so it sat by itself at the end of the runway. As Natasha shut down the engines, a black SUV approached from the direction of the hangar.

"Ready?" Natasha asked Ethan.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Ethan, but you still look like Stark," she said, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Hey!" Stark said. "All right. You've got the comm, right, Ethan?"

"Yes. We're good at this end. Believe it or not, Stark, I've done this once or twice before." Ethan rolled his eyes at Natasha, who smirked.

There was a sigh over the comms. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm fretting. It's not fun."

Ethan looked at Natasha. "Are you sure you can get them all?"

"Are you doubting us now, Ethan?" The familiar voice on the comms made Ethan want to cheer.

"Brandt? Report!"

"In position, Ethan," Brandt replied crisply. "We'll take care of this lot and join you at the factory as soon as possible."

"ETA?"

"Fifteen minutes? Faster if we could use the chopper," Benji grumbled. 

"Well, we can't, so get over it," Natasha retorted.

"In that case, time to get this show on the road," Ethan said. He let himself slump slightly, his shoulders rounding. When he walked to the jet's doorway, his gait was that of a man in pain and trying to hide it. He glanced over his shoulder at Natasha; she nodded.

"Have fun storming the castle."

He flashed her a quick grin, then opened the jet's hatch and walked down the steps to the waiting car. They had argued over how vulnerable Stark would actually appear in a circumstance like this; Ethan had wanted to have a wheelchair -- motorized, of course -- in which he could hide weapons or other equipment, but Stark had argued that he would never appear in public in one, pointing out that when he returned from Afghanistan, he had eschewed the use of one. Natasha had suggested the oxygen tank because it could be easily turned into a weapon; Ethan had argued that it would probably be confiscated out of hand. In the end, they had decided that Ethan would simply walk out and get in the car.

The kidnappers had chosen a large, dark sedan with tinted windows. Probably just exactly what people were used to seeing at a small local airport that catered to factory executives and wealthy people coming into the area in the winter for the skiing. 

Ethan submitted to a thorough patdown, amused that they took care with his arms and legs, checking to make sure that he wasn't hiding any part of the Iron Man armor on his person. It was all done in silence, and when the searcher was finished, he merely opened the car door and indicated that Ethan should get in.

He did. The drive into town was accomplished in silence, despite the fact that Ethan knew that Stark was more likely to smart-mouth the kidnappers. He couldn't risk them duct taping his mouth and damaging his mask. Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into the fenced-in executive parking area of the factory. The car stopped, and the door opened. Ethan took his time getting out, getting his bearings. Across the street from the factory, behind the employee parking lot, was a baseball field where a community game was in full swing. The parking lot was full of cars, and crowds cheered the two teams from bleachers situated with their backs to the cars.

This factory was at the town's northwestern edge, and surprisingly close to a state police barracks. If he could get Pepper out before his team was ready, they could easily run that couple of blocks. They _could_ dodge into the spectators, but that was _not_ Plan A. Or even Plan B. Running east would put them in too much open ground before they reached cover, as they would have to cross railroad tracks, and as this was not the only factory nearby, three or four sets of tracks ran parallel here. On the other hand, if they _had_ to go that way and got across the tracks, they could be in a populated area quickly, and from there it was only a couple of miles to the municipal police station.

The car drove through the factory's gates. It was a small manufacturer; there was no guard post at the gate; when the day was done, the gate was just locked behind the last employee to leave. A larger manufacturer had occupied the space at one point, Ethan knew, based on what research he had been able to do.

The driver pulled the car up behind the building, close to the loading dock, near a back entrance. Ethan climbed laboriously out of the car; no help was offered. The sound of the ball game was muted here in the factory's lee. The driver opened the door, and he was escorted into the silent factory.

Ethan was led back toward the front of the factory building; he glimpsed the light coming in through the factory's glass front doors before they turned a corner. A door was opened for him at the end of the hallway, and he was ushered into the office beyond. 

To his surprise, his escort -- the man who had patted him down at the airport and sat beside him on the drive to the factory, and who had not yet spoken a word to him -- moved around him and settled into the chair behind the desk.

He waved at the visitor's chair in front of the desk. "Please, Mr. Stark, have a seat."

"So that's why you didn't say anything before," Ethan said, instantly recognizing his voice from the telephone call.

A faint smirk crossed the man's face. "Indeed. I wished to observe you, Mr. Stark, before you were aware of my own identity."

"I'm still not aware of that," Ethan pointed out. "And I would like to know where Pepper is."

"You can call me Garrison," the man said. "As for Miss Potts' location...well you'll be joining her shortly." He held up a hand. "Relax, Mr. Stark; there was no hidden meaning there. If we wanted either of you dead, there are far simpler ways of accomplishing it."

"What is it you _do_ want, Mr. Garrison?"

"I think you know the answer to that, Mr. Stark. We want Extremis."

"How did you find out about it?"

A faint smile crossed Garrison's face. "Oh, Mr. Stark. Despite all the lessons you have learned in the last few years, you are still nothing but ego. Did you think you were the _only_ person Aldrich Killian approached about funding?"

"Clearly not, since he found it somewhere else. So, what -- you took over AIM?"

Garrison sat back in his borrowed chair and steepled his fingers. "Let us just say that Killian's unfortunate demise left an opening at the top of the organization."

"Has anyone told you that you pull off Evil Mastermind really well?" The words were out before Ethan could quite stop them, but it was definitely the sort of thing Stark would say, so he merely plastered on an insouciant look and hoped for the best.

"I wondered how long it would take," Garrison said with the ghost of a chuckle. "I knew you couldn't stay on your best behavior forever."

Ethan shrugged. "You only have to go to YouTube to verify that."

"Indeed." Garrison suddenly straightened in his chair and pushed himself to his feet. He leaned over the desk. "I believe we understand one another, Mr. Stark. You will give us Extremis. The consequences of refusal will be most unpleasant -- not for you. For Miss Potts."

"If you touch her...."

"Yes, yes," Garrison said, moving around the desk. "Let's move past the posturing, shall we?" He opened the office door and beckoned to the men beyond it. "Take Mr. Stark to Miss Potts, gentlemen, if you please." He turned back to Ethan, watching as he stood. "You don't look well, Mr. Stark. I am certain you need rest, though I am afraid you will not find the accomodations quite as plush as what you might be accustomed to. Still, better than a cave, eh? We will discuss this again in the morning."

Ethan glared at Garrison, but allowed himself to be led away.

~*~*~

"Tony!" As soon as he walked through the doorway of the room where they were holding her, a storeroom converted to a cell from the look of it, Pepper Potts was throwing herself into his arms. 

Ethan held her close until he heard the door behind him lock, then gently disengaged the embrace and pushed her back so he could see her face. "Are you all right, Pepper?"

She nodded. "They haven't hurt me -- they've barely spoken to me. I'm just tired." She pushed her hair back from her face. "Tony, what is going on? What are you doing here? You look awful! Come over here and sit down." She led him to the cot pushed against one wall. Ethan lowered himself onto the low cot, and patted the space next to him. Pepper sank into the spot.

"Pepper, there's something I have to tell you," Ethan began -- and the lights suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness.

Beside him, Pepper drew in a shuddering breath. "Tony?"

"Well, that was unexpected," Ethan said. He laced his fingers in Pepper's, and stood, pulling her up with him. "Seems like a good time to leave, Pepper." He stepped toward where he remembered the door to be, still holding her hand.

The emergency lights clicked on just as the door opened. Garrison stood there, his finger on the trigger of the gun in his hand. "I warned you, Stark."

"Ethan, what's going on?" Natasha's voice sounded in his ear. "What did you do? We're still ten minutes out."

Ethan fell back into character. "And I followed through in good faith," he said to Garrison. "You know I did. No police, no Avengers, no SHIELD. It's not my fault if you don't pay the electricity bill."

"Localized power failure," Stark said. "Reports of downed wires...looks like a tree fell over in the neighborhood and took some wires with it. Total coincidence."

Natasha swore in Russian. Ethan would have admired her creativity if Garrison hadn't been waving a gun in his face. "Hang on, Ethan. We're coming."

Pepper abruptly pulled her fingers free of Ethan's and stepped in front of him, pushing him back at the same time, her right stretched toward Ethan to keep him behind her, while her left hand was out to fend off Garrison. "Leave him alone," she snarled. 

Garrison smiled at her. "I'll give you points for bravery, Ms. Potts, but not for intelligence. Do you seriously think I'd hesitate to shoot you? We don't need _you_ , just your blood. And we don't even really need Stark; we have other resources to draw on to reactivate Extremis. So I'm afraid that you have both just become more trouble than you're worth."

"Keep him talking," Natasha urged. "Five minutes."

"I am _so done_ with this conversation," Ethan said. 

"Don't do something stupid, Hunt!" Stark exclaimed, his voice sharpened by fear.

Ethan grabbed Pepper's hand, yanked her off-balance, and pushed her to the floor; he was now Garrison's only effective target. The crack of the gunshot was loud, but Ethan was moving faster than Garrison anticipated, so the bullet intended for his head grazed his shoulder instead. Not that it didn't hurt, but Ethan didn't let either the pain or Pepper's scream distract him. He tackled Garrison, knocking the gun from his hand and shoving him backwards into the hallway.

"Pepper, go!" he ordered, and registered the clatter of her heels against the linoleum-tiled floor just as Garrison surged up and punched him in the sternum. The blow was designed to incapacitate a man who had just had open heart surgery. Had it actually hit Stark, it would have seriously injured -- possibly even killed -- him. Instead, it only drove the lockpicks and spare comm unit that Ethan had secreted behind the pad of fake bandages into his chest. Ethan grinned. "Ow."

Garrison looked briefly puzzled before Ethan's fist connected with his jaw and snapped his head back. He collapsed and Ethan rolled away.

"Who are you?"

Pepper stood a safe distance away, the gun held unwaveringly on him. He immediately raised his hands, holding them away from his body. Her stance was good, he noted, wondering if Stark had trained her or if it had been one of the other Avengers. He met her eyes and knew that she was perfectly capable of hitting him -- and she wouldn't just graze his shoulder. And with that thought, he became aware of the wound's throbbing. 

"You're not Tony," Pepper said flatly. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Natalie from the legal department."

Some of the tension went out of her, but the gun didn't waver. "Prove it."

"I have a comm unit," he said, vaguely gesturing toward his right ear, but taking care to keep his arms wide.

"All right." She watched him carefully in the dim light as he fished the comm from his ear. "Put it on the floor. Now back up. No," she corrected when he started to stand. "Just scoot back." He complied, and she approached the tiny unit. Keeping her eyes on Ethan, the gun unwavering, she squatted down to pick it up. Ethan had to admire the strength it required to do that on those heels.

Just as she reached for the comm, Garrison kicked out at her legs, knocking her over. He attempted to pin her by rolling on top of her, but she got her feet under him and kicked him viciously with her heels. He was knocked into the wall, and by the time he managed to get his feet under him and rush her again, she was ready. The gun spoke twice in quick succession, and it was all over. 

Ethan blinked, then belatedly raised his hands again, as Pepper swung the gun in his direction. 

And then Natasha was rounding the corner, the outfit she'd worn as Tony's pilot exchanged for her distinctive Black Widow uniform. "I have them," she said. Then, "Yes, Tony, they're fine."

"Natasha!" Pepper's shoulders rounded with relief, but she nevertheless engaged the gun's safety before she gave it to Natasha, who handed her a comm unit in exchange. Pepper expertly inserted it into her ear. "This guy says he's a friend of yours." She jerked her head at Ethan.

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, he is." She looked past Pepper. "I see you managed to get yourself shot. What happened to the plan?"

Ethan shrugged, then winced. "The plan didn't survive the first engagement with the enemy. Also, she's a lot fiercer than you told me."

Down the hall, Pepper was engaged in a one-sided -- to Ethan, anyway -- conversation with Stark. 

"Is the building clear?" he asked.

Natasha nodded. "Turns out that they had most of their people at the airport waiting for SHIELD or the Avengers to come pouring out of the plane. They only had Garrison and the other two here." She shrugged. "Not very smart."

"I like it when the bad guys aren't very smart," Ethan said. He stripped off his mask with a practiced movement, stuffing it and the vocoder strip he peeled from his throat into his jacket pocket.

"It is better that way," Natasha agreed. She offered Ethan a hand and helped him to his feet, glancing over his shoulder. "Superficial?"

He turned his head and eyed it. "Yeah. Hurts, though."

She cocked her head. "Stark says you deserve it for not following the plan and for overstressing his poor, weak heart -- but everyone knows that Stark is an ass. He also says that he owes you, and if you ever need anything from him...well, you get the picture. Come on, let's get out of here and get Pepper back home."

"Do you think we might get a bandage for this at some point?" Ethan asked plaintively, gesturing at his shoulder.

"There's a CVS in the mall," Natasha replied. "We can stop and get a box of Band-Aids." She turned and walked up the hall toward the front of the building, Pepper joining her.

"You're very generous," Ethan said, following them. "Very generous, indeed." As he followed them down the hallway, he dug the spare comm unit out from under the bandages on his chest. "Brandt?"

"Here, Ethan. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Flesh wound. Can you guys clean this up while Natasha and I take Ms. Potts home?"

"No problem, Ethan," Benji replied. "Hey, you never told us you knew the Black Widow. That woman is terrifying." There was a choked off laugh from Brandt. Natasha glanced over her shoulder at Ethan with a half smile. "Aaaand she can hear me right now, can't she," Benji said. "Because comms. Sorry, ma'am. Widow. Agent Romanoff. I mean terrifying in the nicest possible way, of course." 

"Benji?"

"Yes, Ethan?"

"You should probably quit while you're ahead."

"Right. Quitting while I'm ahead. I am quitting while I am ahead."

"Benji?"

"Yes, Ethan?"

"Stop talking now."

"Right. Sorry, Ethan."

One of these days, he'd have to introduce Benji to Natasha, just for the sheer entertainment value -- and suddenly he was grinning widely at the thought of his team and the Avengers getting together for a barbecue....


	2. Two

When Natasha Romanoff spotted the dark-haired man waiting for her, she immediately sidestepped behind a marble obelisk, putting her back to the grave marker, and giving herself an opportunity to glance back the way she had come. Fury was already out of sight; Rogers and Wilson were still standing by Fury's empty grave, Steve holding the Winter Soldier file open in his hands. She saw Wilson glance at it, then roll his eyes. She knew that if she needed them, she had only to scream, and they'd come running -- well, Fury wouldn't, but he'd be circling around to get a shot from behind. Not that she was particularly fond of the damsel-in-distress routine, but she had lately learned that it was really nice to have backup. Of course, if she had her backup, then the waiting man had his, but she saw no sign of them.

She sighed and stepped back into view. Truth be told, she had been expecting this meeting for a couple of weeks, ever since three helicarriers had crashed into the Potomac, taking SHIELD -- and, it was to be hoped, most of Hydra -- with them.

She walked over and casually took a seat on the marble bench next to the waiting man.

"Hello, Ethan."

Ethan Hunt, the IMF's most effective agent, smiled at her. "Hi, Natasha. Long time no see. How's things?"

She shrugged. "A bit busy lately. You?" She glanced at Ethan quickly, then away, her eyes roving over the cemetery. She still couldn't spot his team, which surprised her. They were good.

"Well, you know how it is. It's been busy for everyone lately." He appeared supremely relaxed, which annoyed Natasha. After the last couple of weeks, she wasn't in the mood for games, even with an old friend.

"We both know this isn't a social call, Ethan. Which is it? Are you here to kill me or recruit me?"

Ethan stopped smiling, his eyes sharp and intent. "Why would it have to be either of those?"

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. "Please, Ethan. You, of all people, would not just happen to show up here, unless you were sent. So which is it? Bearing in mind, of course, that the former will prove...difficult."

Ethan huffed a short laugh. "Difficult? Impossible, I should think."

Natasha tilted her head. "Isn't 'impossible' what you do?"

Ethan quirked a brow back at her. "That _is_ what it says on the tin," he agreed. "However, in this instance, I am well aware that _Captain America_ is not yet out of earshot -- not for him, anyway -- and _I_ do not have backup. Which is why you can't spot them, by the way. They're not that good. They're just not there."

Natasha smiled ruefully and nodded, conceding the point to Ethan. 

"You should know me better than that, Natasha," he continued. "I owe you entirely too much to accept any mission involving harming you."

Natasha did know better, actually. There had been a mission once, a joint effort between SHIELD and IMF. With the former still not entirely certain of her loyalty, Ethan Hunt had been brought in to put her down if necessary. As it turned out, she had ended up saving his life. Of course, he had later saved hers, but then she had helped him save his wife, so she thought that it was his turn.

"So," she murmured, "recruitment, then."

He nodded. "That is one thing, yes. The terms would be what you had with SHIELD. A lot of SHIELD assets are coming to IMF. Or going to the CIA. And you wouldn't even have to prove that you're not Hydra, like the rest of them."

"Generous."

"The least we can do for you, Natasha."

"Did IMF know?" Natasha asked.

Ethan didn't even try to pretend he didn't understand. "No. Do you think I wouldn't have found some way to warn you, if we did? Who expects _Nazis_ of all things?" He threw up his hands.

The corner of Natasha's mouth turned up at his outraged expression. She looked out at the cemetery, not really seeing the expanse of granite. She had been so many things to so many people over the years. A couple of weeks ago, she had said as much to Steve. Assassin. Spy. For them, for us, for whomever. But there was one more thing she had been: Avenger. And that was where she was going now, despite what she had said to Rogers about needing to find out who she was. Stark had already contacted her. He was offering them all a safe haven, and that, she had decided, was what she wanted.

"I'm sorry, Ethan. I've already accepted another offer."

"Stark?"

"Yes."

"Still an Avenger, then?"

"It's surprisingly addictive, saving the world."

He grinned. "Yeah. I know. There's...one other thing I need to ask you, Natasha." His expression was bleak, and Natasha guessed what it was.

"Your wife is safe, Ethan. That was an off-book deal; it was never on the servers. The only people who knew where we hid Julia were your Secretary and Director Fury."

"And you," Ethan said.

"Yes. But I found out later, and not because either of them told me." She paused, remembering how desperate Ethan had been when Julia had been kidnapped in Croatia. Ethan Hunt had a weak point...but as far as the world was concerned, that weak point was gone. "They won't be able to find her because of this."

Natasha read the relief in his face as he closed his eyes briefly. "Fury was not the trusting sort," she offered.

Ethan nodded. He stood and offered her a hand. "Good luck, Natasha. I'm sure I'll see you again sometime -- probably saving the world."

She remained seated, watching him walk away among the headstones. Saving the world. She smiled. Yes. That was what she did -- what they all did.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during _Rogue Nation_ and answers the question of where Ethan got all the cool tech gadgets he had when he was supposedly disavowed and on the run from the CIA.

Ethan stood for a moment after Brandt hung up, unsure what to do next. He was becoming light-headed and knew that he needed help. He couldn't go to a hospital; even if he gave a false name, the CIA was likely to find him -- and that, he could not allow. He knew the Syndicate existed now. He had to bring them down. Whom could he call? Luther? Benji? Jane? They would all be either immediately recalled, or disavowed.

They would certainly be watched. 

He was in London...could he go to MI6? London. His thoughts strayed back to the pretty young agent in the record shop. She had died because of him. She had been frightened. She had died only to emphasize how helpless Ethan was in that moment, but somehow he would avenge her.

And with that thought, Ethan knew whom to call. He pushed back into the telephone booth.

The call rang through and was picked up. "Hello?"

"Natalie!" Ethan said jovially. "It's Hunter Matthews! I'm in town and was hoping that we could get together."

"Jarvis, please secure this line and trace the call," Natasha said, without bothering to mute her end of the line. "Ethan, it would help if you would tell me where you are."

"Your line is secure?"

"They don't get any more secure than this."

Ethan closed his eyes and allowed himself to slump against the booth's wall. "I'm in London. I need help, Natasha."

"Ethan. Have you been disavowed? Again?"

He shook his head, even though she couldn't see it. "Not...exactly. Not yet, anyway. I called in for evac and IMF's being disbanded. I can't go in, Natasha. I can't...."

"Ethan." Natasha's even tone calmed some of the chaos in his head. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes. I..." His voice trailed off. He really didn't feel well. Not at all....

"Stay with me, Ethan," Natasha said. "Jarvis, have you got him?" There was a pause. "All right, thank you, Jarvis. Ethan, I have your location. Stay where you are; I'm calling someone to pick you up. He's going to identify himself as Natalia's uncle, and he's going to ask you if you're waiting for her. Go with him, Ethan. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Natalia's uncle," he repeated.

"Hang on, Ethan. Help is coming."

"I'll...be here."

"Do you want me to stay on the line?"

"No. Thank you, Natasha."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Ethan. The jet is being prepped now."

"Okay."

Ethan hung up the phone and exited the phone booth. The pavement was cold and rough under his bare feet as he shuffled to the nearby bench. He didn't so much sit as fall, and his vision whited out as the impact jarred his wound. His jaw tightened as he swallowed a cry.

He wasn't certain how long it was before a black car stopped in front of him. The window opened, and Ethan tensed, half-expecting it to be the blond man from the record shop. The man who peered out at him was blond, but he was much older than the shooter, and his expression, while not kind, exactly, was at least not homicidal.

"Good evening," the man called. His accent was Russian, with a hint of British in the vowels. "I understand you are waiting for Natalia. I am her uncle. Perhaps I could offer you a lift?"

Ethan nodded, and pushed himself up from the bench. Or, at least, that was what he intended, but it seemed that his body had other ideas. He looked muzzily at the driver, who frowned, then got out of the car, and approached.

"She told me you were hurt," he said quietly. "She did not say how badly."

"I didn't tell her."

The man looked searchingly into Ethan's face. He shook his head slightly at whatever he saw there. "No," he said, "I do not suppose you did. Come, let us get you out of here." He helped Ethan up and into the back seat of the car. "Rest," he said, when Ethan was settled. "It is a bit of a drive."

"Where are we going?"

"I have a home outside of London. That is where Natalia will meet us."

"Okay." He trusted Natasha, so he would trust this "uncle" of hers, though, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, he had little choice at this point. Ethan closed his eyes as the car started to move.

*~*~*

Ethan woke to the muddled head and fuzzy mouth that he associated with anesthesia. He tensed. Where?

"Ethan, if you pop those stitches, the doctor is going to have a fit."

He opened his eyes to find Natasha Romanoff standing next to his bed. She favored him with her not-smile that was more genuine than some people's wide grins. "You're safe," she continued. "You've had surgery, so you're probably feeling fuzzy. Don't worry -- it was a private doctor. No one knows you're here." She cocked her head. "Well, as long as you don't count the Avengers, the doctor, Uncle Illya...." She ticked people off on her fingers as she named them.

Ethan closed his eyes and nodded. He was feeling remarkably sore. "How bad was it?"

She sobered. "Bad enough. You lost a lot of blood, Ethan. Stark wanted to call in one of the specialists who works with the Avengers, but I wasn't sure you'd want her. We can consult her later, if you choose."

"I need to go--" Natasha's hand on his chest halted his attempt to get up. He found that he was actually thankful for the excuse to subside back onto the bed, weak and trembling. 

"No, Ethan. You need to rest. You are entirely safe here, and hidden. Off the grid. No one is going to find you here. You can stay for as long as you need to."

Ethan's mind finally caught at something Natasha had said. "Wait, Stark? You brought Tony Stark here?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I didn't. But I did have to let the rest of my team know why I needed to so suddenly take the jet to England. Besides, anything Jarvis knows, Stark knows. No. I didn't bring Stark." Her hand settled on Ethan's. "Don't worry about Stark, Ethan. No one pries his secrets from him. No one." She squeezed his fingers gently. "Go back to sleep, Ethan."

Ethan found that he really was very tired. His eyes slipped closed....

~*~*~

"Agent Hunt?" The voice from the doorway of his room penetrated the pleasant haze in which Ethan drifted. "Are you awake, Agent?" 

"I am now," he replied, without opening his eyes. He began to take inventory. He could feel the pull of stitches in his side and the padding of bandages, as well as the soft blankets drawn up to his chest. The wound itself was not painful in that way that meant that the pain had been blunted with drugs.

"Agent, my name is Bruce; I came with Natasha. Now that you're out of danger -- medically, anyway -- I'll be looking after you. And before you protest that you're perfectly capable of looking after yourself," he continued, from the bedside, "please don't. I'm sure you are, but right now, you don't have to."

Ethan opened his eyes. The man standing next to him was -- Ethan's mind grasped after a better word than "nebbish." He was dressed in a pair of rumpled khaki pants and a plaid shirt beneath a brown corduroy jacket. His hair was curly, somewhat unkempt, and liberally threaded with grey. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose completed the impression of scruffy academic. He met Ethan's eyes briefly, then glanced away.

"Are you a doctor?" Ethan asked.

"Yes," the man said, "though in the interest of full disclosure, not of medicine."

"Of what, then?"

"Biochemistry and nuclear physics. But I sometimes serve as a nurse and paramedic for the Avengers, and Natasha thought it best to keep your medical care in-house, as it were." The man picked up Ethan's wrist, laying his finger firmly over the pulse point. 

"Nuclear physics? But--"

"Shhh." Bruce glanced at Ethan over his glasses, then his eyes shied away again toward his wristwatch. "I'm counting."

Ethan watched in amusement as his pulse was taken; Bruce counted out the full minute, and in the meantime, Ethan could feel his brain re-engaging as information began to flow through it. There had been a physicist, hadn't there? At Culver University? Something about a lab accident? A missing scientist named Banner. And he was with the Avengers?

"You're the Hulk." The words were out before Ethan could censor them. All right; brain not yet fully engaged, apparently.

Bruce glanced at him again, then at the machinery ringing Ethan's bed. "Sometimes," he acknowledged. "Not today, I hope."

"Me, too," Ethan said, again before he could stop himself. "Wow. I am really having a problem with my mouth right now."

Bruce huffed a laugh. "Probably the pain medication. I'm not going to start reducing it for a couple of days, though."

Ethan nodded. He chafed at the idea, but if he was going to hunt the Syndicate then he needed to be healthy. He grabbed Bruce's arm as the physicist turned away. "Doc. Any friend of Natasha's...."

Bruce looked back at him, a crooked half-smile on his face. "Wait to say that until you've seen the other guy," he said.

~*~*~

The next morning, Ethan was feeling much better. Bruce hovered while he levered himself out of bed, but he walked under his own power to the dining room where he found Natasha, the man who claimed to be her uncle, and breakfast all waiting for him. He took a seat, and Bruce sat across from him. 

Natasha's uncle, Ethan saw, was even older than he had initially thought, his hair silver rather than blond. "Ah," he said, folding a copy of _The Independent_ and laying it aside, "Mr. Hunt! It is good to see you up and about. I know that Natalia has already told you that you may stay for as long as you need to, but please, allow me to say it myself."

"Thank you, Mister...?"

"You must call me Illya. You may, if you wish, call me uncle, as Natalia does." His mouth quirked in a half-smile, as if at a private joke. "But first things first: you must eat." He gestured at the covered plate in front of Ethan. "I hope you will forgive us that we have already had our breakfasts. Rude, I know, but...." He shrugged.

"They weren't certain I was going to let you get up," Bruce said. He lifted the cover from the plate in front of Ethan to reveal a steaming omelette.

As the steam reached him, Ethan realized two things: he was famished, and he was cut off from IMF's resources. This time, he didn't have the Secretary to bail him out with a hidden equipment cache. It wouldn't be the first time, but he hated dealing with the black market. Even as he shoveled forkfuls of very good omelette into his mouth, plans began spinning through his mind. He needed some basics, first: cash, passports, weapons. Natasha could no doubt help with that. He hesitated to speak in front of "Uncle" Illya, however.

"Ethan," Natasha said, "what happened?"

Ethan looked up at her, considering what to say. He knew he could trust Natasha, and, since Bruce was also an Avenger, Ethan would trust him. The old man was an unknown quantity, however, and his eyes slid briefly in that direction before returning to Natasha, who looked faintly amused. 

"You can say anything you like in front of Illya. I will vouch for him." The old man inclined his head to Natasha, then turned an expectant gaze on Ethan, who ordered his thoughts while finishing his omelette. He put down his fork and told them how he had come to be barefoot and wounded in London.

"The Bone Doctor, eh?" Illya said. "A nasty customer. I had heard that he was dead."

"I think," Ethan said, "that everyone in that room had been declared dead. I think that's where the Syndicate is getting their recruits."

"And the woman?" Bruce asked.

"British intelligence," Ethan answered. "She has to be. Why would she save me otherwise?" He was silent a moment, remembering. He had trusted her immediately, and that wasn't like him. Then he realized.... "She reminded me of Julia."

He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Bruce said, "Julia?" Ethan squeezed his eyes shut.

"His wife," Natasha answered for him. "She's dead."

Ethan opened his eyes in time to see Bruce blanch. "I'm sorry," he muttered. His hands twisted in the hem of the tablecloth.

"It's all right," Ethan answered, his eyes finding Natasha's. "It was a long time ago."

"Ethan," Natasha said, "go back to bed. Let me make some calls, and we'll help you figure this out."

Bruce pushed his chair back and came around the table to help Ethan with his. "She's right, Agent Hunt. You're starting to look a little ragged."

Ethan nodded. "I'm starting to _feel_ a little ragged. Thanks, Doc."

They didn't speak as Bruce shadowed Ethan back to his bedroom. Ethan collapsed gratefully onto the bed. From the doorway, Bruce said, "I lost someone, once, Agent Hunt. She's not dead, but she's still lost to me. I'm very sorry." He turned and walked away, leaving Ethan to contemplate what it meant that he had trusted the dark-haired woman because she reminded him of his wife.

~*~*~

The next time Ethan woke, he found Natasha sitting next to him, a book in her hand. "I wouldn't have expected you to be reading _The Hobbit_ ," he remarked, "but I suppose if I _had_ , it _definitely_ would have been in Latin."

"It's good practice," she said, without looking up from her book.

"Need to pass for Roman often, do you?"

Her eyebrow quirked. "Not as often as one might think," she said, coolly, "though there was that one time when I was a Latin teacher for a couple of years." She closed the book without using a bookmark; Ethan knew perfectly well she would remember the page number, even if she didn't go back to the book for months. "I made those calls."

"And?"

"No one knows anything about the Syndicate. No one has ever heard of them. The CIA is convinced that you made them up."

Ethan's hand curled into a fist. "What? Surely IMF is telling them otherwise?"

"IMF has been dissolved," Natasha said. "Most of their assets have been transferred to the CIA, with the exception of your friend Luther. He quit."

"My team?" Ethan wasn't sure what he wanted to hear.

"All IMF field agents have been recalled from whatever missions they were on and ordered to report to Langley for debriefing. Agents Brandt and Dunn have already been reassigned, both to CIA headquarters, and Agent Carter is on her way in. And because you, Ethan, disappeared, rather than following the recall order, you have been not only disavowed, but branded a rogue operative. Word has gone out that if you are spotted, you're to be detained by any means necessary."

"I suppose," he said, his voice dry, "that the fact that I never actually received the recall order because I'd been shot, doesn't factor into it?"

"Director Hunley seems to have decided that you are to blame for everything that has gone wrong in the world for the last several years, Ethan. He wants your head."

"Great. Well, I hope he can deal with disappointment, because I like my head where it is. So. No help from that quarter, then."

Natasha shook her head, her hair falling around her shoulders. She was wearing it in soft curls again, unlike the severe straight style she'd been wearing the last time he saw her. It suited her, Ethan thought. "No. And I'd avoid contacting either Brandt or Dunn if I were you. They'll be watched."

"I don't suppose _you_ can help?"

"Sorry, Ethan; I'm _already_ engaged in hunting down a secret organization. Hydra is keeping us pretty occupied these days."

Ethan nodded. "It's all right. I'll figure it out somehow."

"You could start by letting me finish," Natasha said mildly.

Ethan looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. "You said you couldn't help."

"Not directly," she acknowledged. "But I spoke to the others, and they agree that you do _need_ help. Since you have already chosen your mission, Agent," and she smiled, "the Avengers Initiative has agreed to back you. You're going to need equipment, cash, and help hiding from the CIA -- and every other intelligence agency -- and _that_ we can provide."

Ethan stared at her for a moment. "But...there'll be trouble for you. For all of you."

She shrugged, one-shouldered. "The Avengers do not answer to anyone but themselves, not since the fall of SHIELD. Accept our help, Ethan."

His head sank back into his pillows and he closed his eyes. He was so tired, but this offer was the lifeline he needed. "Does this mean I'm an Avenger? I've never been a superhero before."

"Of course," Natasha said in a wry tone. "I'll teach you our secret handshake so that when you come to New York next, you can get into our super secret Avengers hideout."

Ethan grinned. "Excellent!"

~*~*~

Ethan spent nearly a month recuperating in the mansion owned by Natasha's friend Illya. Taking Bruce's advice, he took things slowly, and spent much of his time in research, which was not his forte; he usually left it to Brandt. However, Natasha introduced him via telephone to one of the Avengers' support staff, a man called Jarvis, whose help proved invaluable. He seemed like a combination of Benji Dunn and William Brandt, with a dry sense of humor that Ethan appreciated. It seemed that Jarvis was going to be his main Avengers contact, as well, so after a few times of being called "Agent Hunt" or worse, "sir," Ethan insisted that Jarvis address him by his first name.

"Thank you, Ethan," Jarvis said. "That is very kind of you."

By the time Ethan was ready to resume his mission, he had, with Jarvis' help, amassed quite a lot of data, but he still didn't know how it all connected to the blond man he had seen in the record shop, or the woman who had saved his life. He had sketched them both and shown them to Natasha, and, at her suggestion, to Illya, but neither of them knew either the man or the woman. Ethan's jaw clenched, and Natasha sighed. "Relax, Ethan. You'll find them."

"I know. It's just...I'm worried about what happened to her, Natasha."

Natasha gave him a measuring look. "I think she's fine, Ethan. I think Jarvis would have found her by now if she were not. She would have turned up in some morgue somewhere. She is still alive, and her cover is still intact."

Ethan nodded, and changed the subject. "Are you all right with arranging the drop in Havana?"

"Yes. It will be much simpler for me than for you, in any case, though it's an overly complicated way to get the message to Brandt, if you ask me. We have much simpler methods of contacting him."

Ethan shook his head. "No. Brandt can't get the data in any way that Hunley could suspect him. It'll have to be done this way. When can you have it done?"

"By the end of the week. Just let me or Jarvis know when you want the tip to go out."

"I will." Ethan ran through everything in his head one more time. It would work -- it had to work -- and his team would be protected. Time to go. He shouldered his bag, and leaned over and kissed Natasha on the cheek. "Thank you. And thank Stark for me. And your uncle Illya for the loan of his house."

Natasha smiled. "Good luck, Ethan."

Ethan didn't turn around, but he knew that she watched his car disappear down the long driveway.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills the Secret Twin / Doppelganger square on my Trope Bingo Round 13 card.

If the IMF was known for its complicated sting operations that required masked duplicates, tech toys that wouldn't be on the general market for ten years (if ever), and split second timing, then Ethan Hunt was -- in certain circles, at any rate -- acknowledged to be the master of the craft. So when her partner's voice sounded in her ear warning Natasha that Hunt was skulking near the building exit toward which she was moving, she had only the tiniest window to decide what to do.

"Does he know we're here?" she murmured.

"Unclear," her partner responded. "I can't see any of his usual associates...no wait. I see Agents Carter, Dunn, and...Brandt. Natasha...."

"I know," she murmured. "We talked about this. It may be time."

Clint Barton sighed. "You're probably right. As usual."

"Naturally," Natasha replied. "I'll get Ethan. You get Brandt."

Clint grumbled, but Natasha heard his bowstring twang.

~*~*~

"Shit!"

Ethan stiffened, but did not look around. "Brandt? What is it?"

"I, ah, spilled my coffee," Brandt replied, just as a woman stepped into Ethan's personal space.

"Matthew!" she said, in flawless Sokovian, "how are you?"

"Natalie?"

"Come," she said, grabbing his arm and firmly tucking it through hers. "We must have coffe and catch up." She drew him away from the building.

"Natalie, I'm in the middle of something," he protested.

"Not anymore," she replied, switching to low-voiced English. "Come with me, Ethan."

"Brandt didn't spill his coffee, did he?" Ethan said as they walked down the street arm in arm. He had already issued an abort order to the rest of his team; Benji and Jane had acknowledged, and would be waiting at the hotel. Fortunately, they had only been reconnoitering the building, not actually in the middle of their operation. 

"If he had coffee," Natasha answered, "he probably did. Did he have coffee, Clint?"

Apparently, despite Natasha's low voice, she was close enough for Ethan's mic to pick her up, because Brandt answered. "Yes. Yes, I _did_ have coffee. And now, I do not. Now, I have an arrow which went _through_ my coffee cup and embedded itself in a tree. I don't know what the tree did to deserve such treatment, and I miss my coffee. Someone had better replace my coffee."

"Yes," Ethan translated. "He had coffee." 

Natasha steered Ethan through the streets of the city's business district, and led him toward a small square dotted with benches, on which soberly-clad businesspeople sat drinking from styrofoam cups and staring at mobile phones or tablets. A huge, ancient oak tree grew up through a hole in the center of the paved square, providing shade for many of the benches, as well as the café toward which Natasha directed Ethan. Only one of the outside tables was occupied; Brandt sat there with another man, presumably Natasha's Clint. Although Brandt appeared relaxed and sipped at a large coffee, Ethan's sharp eyes picked up his tension. Clint, meanwhile, was practically sprawled at the table, his own coffee nearby, apparently not at all worried about presenting his back to Ethan. He wore all black, and a large flat case rested on the ground by the side of his chair.

Ethan frowned, and cocked one eyebrow at Brandt in question. _Is everything okay?_

Brandt's slight answering shrug said, _That remains to be seen._

And then Clint stood and turned, offering his hand to Ethan. "Clint Barton, Agent Hunt. We haven't actually met, but did work together once."

Ethan hesitated for the briefest of moments, his eyes flicking from Clint Barton's face to William Brandt's. Quite unexpectedly, he heard Darth Vader's voice in his mind, hissing, "So, you have a twin sister," and he almost laughed. Why Brandt had kept the existence of his twin brother a secret was a good question, but Ethan somehow doubted that it was because their father was a Sith lord.

"Clint was our backup in Croatia," Natasha murmured, and Ethan remembered a bullet smashing through a window dropping the woman holding a gun on his wife where she stood.

He shook Clint's hand, instantly making the connection between the case on the ground, the arrow in the coffee, and his own experience of Barton's remarkable marksmanship. "Thanks for the assist, Agent Barton. You'll be Hawkeye, then."

Clint grinned. "Yeah." He sat back down and indicated two remaining cups on the table. "Will ordered coffee for you. Tea for you, Nat."

Natasha and Ethan took the remaining seats. Ethan took a sip of his coffee, nodding in appreciation when he found it to be exactly the way he liked it. They sat in silence for a moment while Ethan watched Natasha and Clint have a complex conversation completely in head tilts and eyebrow lifts.

Finally, Brandt put his coffee down. "Aren't you going to say anything, Ethan?"

"What is there to say, _Will_?" he asked, putting a slight emphasis on the diminutive that Barton had used.

"He's freaking out because he didn't tell anyone at IMF that his twin brother was a SHIELD agent," Barton said.

"He's freaking out," Ethan observed, "because he didn't tell anyone that he _had_ a twin brother, SHIELD agent or no."

"He's freaking out," Natasha said, "because Ethan is not."

"He's _right here_ ," Brandt said. "And he's not freaking out."

"Much," Clint said. He cocked his head at Ethan. "I have to say that you do seem to be taking it very much in stride."

Ethan shrugged, and took a drink of his coffee. "You're here with Natasha, whom I trust, and Will is not dead and doesn't seem to be being coerced, so I can assume that you're not a Hydra agent -- or something worse -- in a mask. So, really, what's the problem?" He turned to Brandt. "I am curious, though, to know why you kept the fact that you have a twin brother a secret."

Brandt huffed a laugh. "Do you really need to ask that, Ethan, after what you told me in Seattle?" 

"The situations aren't really the same, Brandt," Ethan replied. "Clint can take care of himself."

"Mostly," Natasha murmured from behind her tea.

"Hey," Clint protested. "It was just that one time...."

"Oh, please. You need to be rescued every third Wednesday," Natasha said. "Besides, it's not like you've told anyone that _you_ have a twin brother."

"Coulson knew," Clint replied. "And you do, of course, Natasha."

"And the Secretary knew," Brandt added. He looked at Ethan. "It was not the only secret he was keeping from other people."

Ethan sighed and held up his hands. "I'm not going to apologize, Brandt. For one thing, I didn't mark you as IMF, just your team. I didn't know you were there for certain until after India when I pulled your file, though at the time Jane said something about the 'men who killed my wife,' and no one knew that because the official story was that we had divorced."

Natasha's eyebrow rose, but Clint spoke first. "Wait...you were in Croatia, Will? When we went in for Ethan's wife?"

Brandt shook his head. Ethan knew that he still found the subject painful, and that he still had nightmares on occasion. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"That's why he left field work," Natasha said. "I would have thought he'd at least told you, Clint."

"And you only returned to the field when you found out she was still alive," Clint said softly. "Will.... Man, I'm sorry. If I'd known that was what it was all about, I'd've told you." He turned to Ethan. "No offense, Ethan, but I'd've told him."

Ethan shrugged. "If _I'd_ known, I might have told him. But he never said anything to me. Not until I offered him a permanent spot on my team."

Brandt colored. "Can we stop discussing my personal choices, now, please, and get back to why we all seem to be visiting charming Sokovia at the same time?"

"Given that we were all interested in the same building, I rather suspect we're all here for the same reason," Ethan said.

"That building houses a business that we suspect of being a Hydra front," Clint said. "Nat and I are here to check it out."

"Whereas we're here to take down a business that funnels funds to terrorists," Ethan said.

"And whose headquarters happen to be in the same building," Brandt added. "Hands up anyone who thinks that's a coincidence? No?"

Ethan glanced at Brandt. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That depends, Ethan," Brandt drawled, "on whether or not you're thinking of getting Jane and Benji and getting the hell out of Dodge before my brother and Natasha can call down the kind of chaos that only the Avengers can unleash."

"Hey," Clint protested. "You lot seem to be pretty good at chaos, too -- I mean, it wasn't the Avengers who blew up the Kremlin."

"Yeah, it wasn't IMF, either, jerk."

"Boys!" Natasha said sharply. "Don't make me separate you." She glared first at Clint, then at Brandt. Both looked chastened, though Ethan suspected it was merely show. He felt a tiny stab of jealousy that Brandt appeared to know Natasha as well as he did. He knew it was irrational; after all, she was Brandt's brother's partner; of course he'd know her. "You were thinking, Ethan," she continued, "that we should pool our resources and go in together. That might work, _if_ we're after the same thing, but there's no guarantee that we are."

"But you've already done reconaissance of the building, so you would know."

"Yes." She glanced around. "Let's go back to your hotel and meet up with the rest of your team to discuss...." Her voice trailed off, and her head came up just as an explosion rocked the city, and a low-slung silver car barrelled across the square, scattering people and pigeons everywhere. Ethan saw Natasha lock eyes with the driver; his angle was wrong, though; all he could see was that the driver was male and blond. 

"James," Natasha said.

"Bond?" Clint asked incredulously.

"Time to go, I think," Natasha said crisply. "Ethan, Will's right. Get the hell outta Dodge. I think we can safely say that our targets have been taken care of, and even if they haven't, there's no reaching them now."

"I think you're right," Ethan said. "Nice meeting you, Clint; thanks for the coffee. We'll have to do this again sometime." He stood and with Brandt behind him, started walking. 

"You know, Ethan," Brandt said, as they blended in with the people leaving the square as quickly as possible, "it's entirely possible that we should stay out of eastern Europe. Things keep blowing up...."


	5. Five

As a child of the Red Room, Natasha had learned all that there was to know of American culture. She knew the names of all Seven Dwarfs, and she knew that people invariably forgot one -- and she artfully forgot a different one every time she recited the names. She knew how to eat pizza in New York and how to eat it in Chicago. She knew the names of the presidents and their wives all the way back to Washington. Moreover, she knew the names of the vice presidents and their wives. She knew which breeds of dogs were most popular in which parts of the country. She knew what was meant by "stop, drop, and roll," and what was meant by "stop hammertime." She knew the name of James T. Kirk's hometown. She could have cleaned up on _Jeopardy_ for years if she felt like it. No one would ever think she was anything but a product of a solid American upbringing, even _after_ she wiped their blood off her knife.

Natasha had learned different lessons in SHIELD. It wasn't until Clint Barton spared her life that she learned the value of compassion. Love. Friendship.

Director Margaret Carter of SHIELD had been both a villain and a hero to the girls of the Red Room. She was, of course, a vile American, but she was an example of what they could aspire to -- or surpass. Natasha had never met Peggy Carter in person; by the time she was recruited to SHIELD, Nick Fury was in charge. She would not, therefore, have attended Carter's funeral, if not for one of those intangible lessons she had learned since coming to America: friendship.

Steve Rogers was Natasha's friend, and she knew what Peggy had meant to him, so there was no question but that she would stop in London for the funeral before going on to Vienna for the signing of the Sokovia Accords. They might be on opposite sides of the question of the Accords, but once someone won Natasha's friendship, they remained her friend.

And although she would never mention it to Steve, this was a perfect opportunity to strike at him. Had Rumlow just been a little more patient, he could've taken Steve here, without a fight. Which, now that she thought about it, might have obviated the need for the Accords. On the other hand, given Secretary Ross and his personal prejudices, she was reasonably certain that the text of the Accords had been sitting on his desk for some time just waiting for something like Lagos to happen. 

She arrived at the church hours before anyone else; clad in a simple black dress, she looked like just another mourner, except that she slipped through the locks leaving no trace of her passage, and performed her own sweep of the building to make sure that the funeral would not be disturbed. It was really the best way she knew of expressing her friendship. Aside from delivering the Winter Soldier all wrapped up in a bow to Steve's doorstep, of course. She suspected that at this point, no one was going to find James Buchanan Barnes until he was ready to be found.

When the mourners arrived, she was pleased to see Sam with Steve, but a little disturbed that none of the other Avengers had come out to support him. Stark should have been there at the very least; he had known Peggy Carter his entire life. On the other hand, Stark was never very good at the emotional stuff. Sam noticed her and nodded, but Steve just kept his eyes on the front of the church; even from this distance, Natasha could see that he had been crying. 

The rector had finished his opening prayer and the first hymn was being sung when someone slipped into the open space on the end of the back pew. Natasha glanced over; Tony Stark tipped his head at her, and tapped his forefinger against his lips. _Don't tell Steve,_ the gesture said. She shrugged and turned back to her hymnal, but half her attention was on Stark for the rest of the service, and she was unsurprised when he slipped quietly out during the closing prayer.

After the service, she spoke briefly with Steve, and accompanied him from the church, feeling as though something had ended. She wished he would sign the Accords, but she understood his reasoning for not doing so. With Stark retired, she wondered who would lead the Avengers if Steve didn't change his mind.

Steve was clearly feeling some of the same things because at the curb, as he opened the door to Sam's waiting car, he said, "Do me a favor, Natasha. Take care of yourself. And everyone else, too."

"You're not coming home?"

He shrugged. "If I don't sign, then it's not my home."

Natasha sighed. "It will always be your home, Steve."

"It's nice of you to say so, Natasha, but I don't think it's up to either of us. Take care." 

"You too, Steve."

She watched the car drive away before walking over to a nearby bench where Ethan Hunt was patiently waiting for her.

"Hi, Ethan."

"Natasha. Were you close to the deceased?"

Natasha shook her head. "I never met her. I was here for Steve."

Ethan looked in the direction of the departed car, but it was long since lost in passing traffic. "Of course. A romance for the ages. Literally."

"What brings you to London, Ethan?"

"Oh, you know how it is. A little of this, a little of that. But I also wanted to talk to you, and Barton told Brandt that this would be the best place to catch up to you."

Natasha looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I have a phone," she said mildly.

Ethan acknowledged that with a sideways nod of his head. "And this didn't seem like a telephone conversation sort of thing."

"What have you got?" Natasha was instantly alert.

"It's not much, really," Ethan said, "but I wanted you to know about it. I think the CIA is aware of this, and maybe MI6. It's related to your friend Steve's old pal Barnes."

"Tell me."

"Do you know who Vasily Karpov was?"

Natasha nodded. "He was Hydra. In charge of the Winter Soldier program. We never found him -- and believe me, Steve looked."

"You didn't find him, but someone did," Ethan said. He passed her a tablet; open on it was a photograph of a non-descript house. She swiped through the rest of the photos in the set; they were obviously crime scene photos obtained from the local police department. 

"Where was this? And when?"

"Cleveland. Two days ago. Karpov was going by the name Victor Ivanov. Usual story: seemed like a quiet man, kept to himself, the neighbors only noticed something was wrong because a car jumped the curb and when it hadn't been cleared the next day, they called the police." He reached over and swiped back a couple of photos to one that showed a large hole in the wall of Karpov's house. There were stacks of money still in the hole, but their arrangement showed that something large had been removed from the stash. Ethan pointed at the space. "IMF thinks that whoever did this knew exactly who Karpov was. We think that they wanted the Winter Soldier and that they tortured Karpov to find him. We suspect that what they removed was some sort of control device, especially since they left all that money behind. We think they're going to go after the Accords."

Natasha frowned. "That doesn't make any sense," she protested. "The Accords are designed to limit the power of enhanced individuals. They're not--" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter what the point is. You think Barnes is going to be there."

Ethan shrugged. "I think you should be careful and watch your back, Natasha. And maybe your friend Steve's as well. Hydra set the Winter Soldier on him once before. They're still out there, and they might do it again."

"Given that Steve isn't planning to sign the Accords, and won't even be in Vienna, that would be stupid."

"Plenty of other high value targets will be there," Ethan pointed out.

Natasha sighed. "True. Well. I guess I'd better get there, then. Thank you, Ethan. I owe you one."

He smiled. "As much as it would be politically wise to have an Avenger owing IMF a favor, I am here as a friend, Natasha. I thought you should have a heads-up." He stood and offered her his hand; she allowed him to help her to her feet, then brushed his cheek with a kiss.

"Thanks, Ethan," she whispered. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"Count on it, Natasha. I hope we're wrong, but be careful."

She allowed a half smile to cross her face. "Of course." She knew that Ethan watched her as she walked away. She hoped IMF was wrong, too, but she also knew that she had to get to Vienna right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that I have not yet seen the second season of _Agent Carter_ , so the only things I know about Natasha's early training are from _Age of Ultron_ and bits and pieces I've seen elsewhere.


	6. Plus One

Her phone rang. She pulled the car over and picked up the call with cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Yes?"

"He's safe," Ethan said, and her eyes closed in relief. Despite everything, she _did_ like Stark. "We found him at the base of the missile silo. He's battered, and pissed off as hell, but he's safe."

"Thank you, Ethan. I'll let Cap and the others know. I appreciate you involving yourself like this."

She could almost see Ethan's shrug. "We help our friends. Besides, Stark said he'd fix it so it looked like he flew out under his own power."

"Where is he now?" 

"Back at the Avengers compound. He said he had some modifications to make to get ready for Rhodes to come home from the hospital."

"I'm almost afraid to find out what that might mean," Natasha said with the ghost of a laugh. "Knowing Stark, it could be anything from a teddy bear on Rhodey's pillow to a mobile life support unit."

"What about Barton and the others?" Ethan asked.

"That's taken care of," Natasha said. "I have to go, Ethan. Thanks again."

"Natasha. Be careful. If you can't put out those fires -- if you need me -- _call."_

"I will, Ethan. Thank you." She ended the call, tossed the phone in the pond next to which she had stopped, and drove on.


End file.
